Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (2 page)

Hell.

She’d seen enough movies to know that never ended well.

Chapter Two

Mason pushed through the crowd, scanning for the princess.

Damn it.

Had she slipped away again?

He caught the flash of her ponytail just as she disappeared into a dark hallway and he snarled a curse under his breath. Or maybe not under his breath, because a couple heads turned.

He ignored them and made his way through the sea of humanity into the hall. He emerged into the night, just in time to see four men dump a suspiciously familiar form into the trunk of a beat up Cadillac and peel out.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

He made a note of the direction they were heading and without hesitation, bolted around the building to the parking lot and hopped onto his Harley. Sweat prickled his brow as he started the engine and roared out onto the street. He hoped to God he could find them. He wished he had his team with him, but there was no time to fish out his cell phone and call for back up.

Mason’s pulse pinged as he turned onto the street the Caddy had taken. He growled when he didn’t see it. He scanned the side streets as he thrummed past. Nothing.

Shit. Maybe he’d better call it in.

He hated to call it in, to admit his failure, but he needed—

Oh, yeah. There it was.

Mason made a wide turn and wove through the cars onto a side street leading to the freeway. The freeway. Hell. Where were they taking her?

He felt for the weapon in his boot, just to be sure, though he knew it was there. The Sauer was snug in the holster under his leather jacket too.

As he followed the Caddy onto I15 north, he played out the scenarios.

SEALs were trained never to use lethal force unless a team member or a hostage was in mortal danger. In private security the rules were fuzzier. For one thing, killing a man was murder in the civilian world, and even if he had a gun on you, there was no guarantee a jury would see it as self-defense.

Fortunately, Mason knew ways to incapacitate a body without resorting to lethal force. But there were four of them, and they probably had weapons.

Kevlar would have been nice.

Too bad he hadn’t worn his.

He eased back when the Cadillac pulled off the freeway on some Podunk exit, and then cut his lights and followed at a distance as the car turned onto a dirt road. The cloud of dust it kicked up helped hide him from view, which was providential, but hell on the eyes.

By the time the Cadillac stopped he probably looked like something out of Road Warrior. He cut his engines, rolled his bike behind a hillock and eased forward so he could reconnoiter the scene.

The four men got out of their car. It appeared they were in the middle of an argument. Excellent.

Mason eased closer, doing a commando crawl through the rocks and sand, hoping he didn’t happen upon a sleeping rattler or a nest of scorpions. He surveyed the scene, evaluating the threats and watching for an opportunity to launch his attack.

“Yeah? Well I don’t give a shit what he said. She’s fucking hot.” One of the men bellowed. He been the driver and was the largest of the four, bulky and muscular, but without much body control. Mason assessed him in a second. Minor threat. Punch to the throat and he’d drop.

“We do what we been paid to do. Nothin’ more.” A smaller man, wiry and lithe, obviously the leader, judging from the deference of the silent two, stared his compatriot down.

“For shit’s sake Scoob. If we’re gonna kill her, what the fuck does anyone care if we have a taste first?”

Mason’s muscles tensed.
Kill her
? Something deep within howled at the prospect. It had little to do with his mission.

Scoob reared up and glared at his partner’s defiance. “Because dumbass. Ever heard of DNA?”

Dumbass put out a lip. “I’ve heard of it.”

“You fuck her, and yours is all over her body.”

“But we’re burying her.” Dumbass threw out his arms. “Here. In the middle of fucking nowhere. They won’t find her. And if they do, it won’t be till she’s bones.”

“You willing to bet your life on that? Because I’m not. So here’s the deal. We do the job, then you go back into town and find a blonde hooker.”

Dumbass appeared to be thinking this over. “It won’t be the same.” He jabbed a thumb at the trunk. “She’s a celebrity.”

Scoob snorted. “Her
mother
was a celebrity. A fucking supermodel. She’s nothing but a reality star.”

“But she’s been on TV. I’ve never fucked someone who’s been on TV before.”

“Oh for Christ sake. Just dig the fucking hole.”

One of the other thugs stepped forward, a skinny guy with what looked like a mouthful of meth-teeth. “We can’t dig the hole.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“The shovels are in the trunk.”

Scoob blew out a harsh breath and stomped over to the car and unlocked the trunk. He lifted the girl out and dropped her on the ground. She landed with an oof and immediately started to flail.

No doubt she was scared to death, but it would have been smarter to play dead. Scoob kicked her in the belly.

The sight made Mason’s blood surge with rage, his skin prickle. Oh, he wanted to take these fuckers out. All the way out. He reminded himself he would have to rein in his fury when he made his move…or he might accidentally kill them.

But then, control was overrated.

He’d do whatever he needed to save this chick, annoying though she was.

Fortunately, her captors were far more annoying.

Scoob pulled out the shovels and tossed them to his minions.

“What about you?” Dumbass asked.

Scoob smirked. “Someone has to keep an eye on her.”

“She ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Apparently Scoob had had it with the insubordination. “Do you want to get paid?” he snarled, and when the men nodded, he added, “Then get to fucking work.”

Muttering amongst themselves, they headed out into the desert.

Excellent.

That left one of them with the girl. Mason eased closer.

Scoob hunched down next to her body; the trembling gave away the fact that she was not unconscious. The bastard pulled off the hood and smiled at her. When he gently brushed her hair from her face and cupped it behind her ear, she flinched. “It really is a pity,” he said. His hand roved over her cheek, across her neck and lower to test the weight of her breast.

She tried to wrench away, to slap his hands away, but her wrists were bound and there was nowhere for her to go.

“Don’t worry,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’ll be over quickly. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

That alone set Mason’s blood on fire.

The fucker had killed before. He wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

No. Not this time. Not this fucking time.

Enough. Enough of this shit. It was time for him to make his move. 

Pansy steeled her spine. She was going to die.

She’d accepted it.

Oh, it wasn’t an easy acceptance, not by far, but these things never were.

Her only regret was that Steven might get away with it.

And that it was Steven who had hired these cretins there was no doubt. He wanted her out of the way. He wanted to grab the brass ring. And he was willing to kill to do it.

How she wished she could go back in time and warn her mother.

But then, Marla Hightower never listened to her. She never listened to anyone. She always did precisely what she wanted to do.

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

But none of that mattered now.

Pansy had moments to live and her last sight would be that of this bastard’s ugly face.

That was a tragedy of monumental proportions—

A shadow rose in her peripheral vision. Her heart ceased its manic thrum for one painful moment and then launched into a skitter that made her breathless. The wraith moved quickly toward them. It enveloped her captor in a malevolent hug. A gargle. A sigh. And then a soft thud as the body fell to the ground.

The warrior glanced at her and their eyes met. A shock slashed through her.
It was him,
her mind sang. He was here.

She didn’t know from where this joy arose. Oh certainly, he had taken out her captor. But it was something more than mere relief. It was a familiarity. A dizzying glee that he wasn’t what she’d thought. He wasn’t a threat to her.

Probably.

He still had three more of them to contend with. When he lifted a large finger to tantalizingly lush lips she nearly snorted.

Be quiet?

Duh.

Still, she nodded. But only to be polite. He was saving her after all.

Probably.

She tried to track him as he skulked into the desert toward the site where the others were digging her grave, but he melted into the darkness, and there was a mound of dirt blocking the view. She struggled to sit up so she could see better, but all she could make out was the dim light of the lantern and the silhouette of men and shovels.

It occurred to her at that moment—and she really did not know from where this non sequitur had come—that Joe Peschi was right. If you’re going to kill someone and bury them in the desert, you really
should
make sure the grave is ready beforehand. Apparently these guys weren’t too bright.

Either that, or they didn’t watch Joe Peschi movies.

A cry wafted over the desolate plain. It ended in a warble. And then there was a shout. The retort of a shot.

Pansy ducked back down. Getting hit by a stray bullet would be inconvenient. Aside from that, she wasn’t entirely safe yet. If they shot her rescuer, she was still in danger. And possibly mortal danger, considering the conversation she’d overheard.

Please God,
she prayed.
Let him prevail!

Cold fingers clutched her chest at the thought of that man, with those beautiful, stunning startling eyes, lying dead.

It was almost as disturbing as the thought of being raped and murdered and buried in a shallow grave. She had no idea why.

Her heart thudded as she listened to the sounds of battle. Thumps and oofs and snarls. Damn, she wished she could see.

Ah, but—how often had she heard it?—be careful what you wish for.

A thunder of footsteps approached. She edged under the fender of the car in an attempt to protect herself. With the zip ties around her wrists and ankles, she was, for all intents and purposes, helpless.

She hated the feeling.

A man ran past. He was big and bulky and…another man tackled him.

Pansy knew—just knew—which one was her hero. The first man fell with an earth-shaking thud and her protector crawled up his body, landing punch after punch into his kidneys, his solar plexus, his face. They rolled in the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust—and then they separated and both sprang to their feet.

One took a position, something fierce and ominous and reminiscent of a warrior, a man who knew how to fight. The other cowered.

Pansy was pretty sure which was which.

But then, they came together again in a clash of shadows. She was aware of quick, harsh whipping movements, hard blows. From her position beneath the car, she watched in awe as the warrior battered his foe. It took seconds…and then the bastard dropped.

Her warrior stood then, straightened. Tugged down his jacket and surveyed the motionless body before him.

Silence blanketed the scene. Pansy couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Had he saved her? Or had she stepped from one peril into another?

She had little time to wonder. Hard hands grabbed her ankles and dragged her from under the car. She couldn’t stop her yelp. The harsh stones on the road cut into her skin and the dirt abraded her cheek.

She caught a glimpse of her warrior, saw his head snap around at her cry, but there was only time for that.

She hated being manhandled, and this night had had its share, so as the man who had hold of her tried to lever her body up before his as a shield, she fought him with everything in her.

It was difficult because her ankles were tied, but she squirmed and writhed and kicked as he attempted to drag her away into the desert.

She shouldn’t have bothered.

The warrior advanced on them at a full run and plastered his fist in the miscreant’s face.

His foul breath brushed her cheek as he wheezed a sigh, and crumpled.

She crumpled with him, and braced herself for another hard fall.

But she didn’t fall.

Her warrior caught her. Snatched her from the other man’s hold and whipped her into his arms and…

God. He smelled so good. Some tantalizing aftershave mixed with the scent of leather and sweat. A sinful combination.

Pansy had little time to revel in it. He carried her to the car and sat her in the passenger seat, sideways so she was facing out. Then he pulled out a knife.